


Show Me

by deinvati



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Established Relationship, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, PWP, Ping-Pong, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, apparently table tennis does it for some people, really? ping-pong?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 10:22:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10009937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deinvati/pseuds/deinvati
Summary: “So, is that a point for me?” Arthur asked, returning to the table, oblivious to how bloody gorgeous he was.  And to how table tennis points were scored.Bored on a job, Arthur and Eames find a dusty ping-pong table and put it through its paces.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My hugs and gratitude to [IAmANonnieMouse](http://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmANonnieMouse/pseuds/IAmANonnieMouse) for the beta and for saying nice things to me when I'm a wreck. You should all go tell her how awesome she is because she is AWESOME.

Their next job was in a small college town, and Arthur had set them up in a rental house a few blocks from campus. There was a sofa in the living room which reeked of pot and beer and was littered with questionable stains, and it was immediately shoved to the corner of the room and never looked at again. They set up lawn chairs, as usual, which remained stain-free no matter how many times Eames tried to catch Arthur's eye.

They were on a tight schedule for this one, and they all worked long days with an intense focus Arthur would have been impressed with if he'd taken ten seconds to notice. Until everything derailed and they found themselves with a week to kill and not a goddamn thing they could do about it.

On the third day, bored out of his bloody skull, Eames decided to look around the house. The extractor had fucked off and it was just he and Arthur, who had been staring at his computer for hours. Eames couldn't take it anymore.

In the basement, lo and behold, was a dusty green table with a saggy net down the middle. No paddles or ball anywhere, but Eames remembered his Uni days and crouched. Sure enough, both paddles and ball were affixed to the underside of the table. He grinned.

"Arthur!"

Soon, footsteps descended the stairs; Arthur far too professional to yell across the house.

"What is it, Mr. Eames?" Arthur asked. He sounded put out, but Eames knew better. If he was bored, Arthur must be going mental.

"Play me," Eames said with a smile, tossing Arthur a paddle. He moved to the side he'd claimed and waited.

When Arthur didn't move, Eames looked back to see a frown drawing his eyebrows together as he studied the faded, stippled table tennis paddle. "I don't know how," Arthur mused, running his fingers over the surface.

Eames watched him caress the worn rubber and his dick twitched in his pants. "Well," he said, his voice a bit rougher than it had been a minute ago, "we could do something else with that paddle."

Arthur shot him A Look and moved to the other end of the table. "We're at work. Show me."

Eames tried to shake off the spell Arthur could cast over him without trying and cleared his throat. He held up the small white ball and said, "Alright, Mr Stick-in-the-Mud. Do you play tennis?"

Arthur stared back at him, The Look still firmly in place.

"Right. Well, just return the ball to me. It should only bounce once on the table before you hit it back. Here we go."

Eames placed himself in the middle of the table, stance wide and knees slightly bent, and Arthur mirrored him. He'd removed his jacket, but his tie was tucked firmly into his waistcoat and he looked like he could be going to a business meeting at any moment. Eames grinned to himself. Oh, this was going to be fun.

He started out with slow lobs of the ball over the tiny net, giving Arthur plenty of time to return. Arthur scowled in concentration and returned the ball every time with unerring accuracy.

To the exact same spot on Eames's side.

Eames put on a little more speed and returned a hit to the far corner of the table, where it whizzed past Arthur's elbow and bounced across the concrete floor. Arthur turned to glare at him.

Eames grinned sheepishly. "Oops," he shrugged. Arthur frowned, nodded, and went to get the ball. Eames watched him bend to scoop it up, his trousers stretched tight across his arse and his waistcoat riding up his back to show the end of the braces hooked into his waistband. Eames's mouth watered.

"So, is that a point for me?" Arthur asked, returning to the table, oblivious to how bloody gorgeous he was. And to how table tennis points were scored.

"Yes," Eames agreed immediately. "One-love."

Arthur looked at him curiously and served the ball. Eames returned it, working on moving his returns further and further from the previous spot. Soon, Arthur was reaching, stretching, and grunting softly as he returned Eames's volleys, but each time he did, it was with controlled speed, in exactly the same place on Eames's side of the table.

Eames swallowed his grin and smacked his next return wide. It sailed fast and hard into the left corner of the table with zero chance of return. A beautiful hit. The ball bounced crazily across the floor, finally settling next to an empty shelf and Arthur, panting slightly, looked at Eames. Eames put his hands on his hips and blew a theatrical, frustrated breath to the ceiling.

Arthur frowned and unbuttoned his waistcoat, removing it and setting it gently on the shelf before retrieving the ball. His braces straps contrasted deliciously with the white, pinstriped shirt he was wearing and Eames was torn between wanting this game to be over right bloody now and wanting to see how long he could make this last.

Arthur's look of determination decided for him.

"Two-love," Eames said.

"How many points does this go to?"

Eames seriously debated saying three. "Let's go to five. Give me a chance to catch up, eh?" He gave what he hoped was a hopeless smile and Arthur smiled back.

"I'm not going to take it easy on you just because I've never done this before."

"Words I've always wanted to hear from your lovely lips, darling. Your serve."

Arthur gave him The Look again and served the ball. Eames couldn't stop his grin as he sped up, returning the ball faster and faster, making Arthur work for it. Arthur still returned each hit, putting the ball exactly where he wanted it every time, which was impressive, really. Eames went in for the kill shot again, but to his surprise, Arthur managed to get half a paddle on it and send it back. It bounced wide, though, well, wide for Arthur, and Eames let it go, turning to watch it bounce off the table and roll to the corner of the room.

Eames turned to Arthur with raised eyebrows and Arthur stood there, sweaty and ruffled, his hair starting to come out of its neat pomade, clearly angry with himself. God, he was too adorable for words.

Eames trotted to fetch the ball and when he returned, Arthur didn't look angry anymore. He looked… smug.

"You sneaky bastard," Arthur said, almost fondly.

Shite. "What?" Eames asked, all innocent eyelashes.

"Nothing," Arthur shrugged. "It's just I'm starting to see the appeal of giving up a point. You just wanted to watch me get the ball."

Eames shrugged, completely unashamed. "Maybe I did. Want to give up a few more points? Possibly four more?" He wiggled his eyebrows at Arthur.

"And have you lord it over me until the end of time?" Arthur asked, rolling his sleeves to the elbow. "No, thanks. I knew you were up to something, though. It's two-one, _love_. Serve the ball."

"Aye, aye, captain," Eames chuckled. Arthur spun the paddle in his hand, his mouth a grim line, and Eames served the ball. He made his returns more and more erratic, Arthur chasing down each one. Finally, Eames returned a hit with a light tap that made the ball just dribble over the net and Arthur had to practically lay on the table to return it. So Eames slammed it past him before he could right himself and the ball ricocheted off the table and bounced under the shelf. Arthur was sweating now and he used the elbow of his shirt to swipe at his forehead. He looked like he wanted to reprimand Eames, but instead, set the paddle on the table and went to retrieve the ball from where it had rolled. Eames held his breath.

But this time, instead of just stooping to get the ball, Arthur fucking _preened_. He crouched, arching his back, and then rocked forward onto his hands and knees.

Eames bit back the groan in his throat. The little shite.

He reached under the shelf, dropping to his elbows, his arse high in the air as he searched for the runaway ball.

Eames's grip on the paddle tightened.

Arthur knelt there for far longer than it should really take to locate a ball under a shelf, wiggling his bum tantalisingly.

_Oh! Oh my, Arthur,_ Eames thought. _You really are bored, aren't you._

Eames stalked around the table just as Arthur was getting to his feet. Arthur stretched, arms above his head, apparently unaware of Eames's presence behind him until Eames crowded him into the wall.

"Arthur," Eames growled, gripping his waist with one hand. He used the paddle in the other to trace the line of Arthur from his shoulder to his hip and around his perfect arse. "What game are we playing here?"

"Oh, don't you know this game, Mr. Eames?" Arthur asked, sounding out of breath, his cheek pressed against the cold concrete wall. "I can teach you."

Eames snapped his wrist, slapping Arthur's arse with the paddle and revelling in the little gasp Arthur gave. "Oh, I think I know this one," he rumbled in Arthur's ear.

Arthur pressed backwards and dragged his backside along the bulge in Eames's trousers, up and back down. "Show me."

Jesus fucking Christ.

Eames dropped the paddle and pulled Arthur flush against him, sucking on his earlobe as he ripped his braces down. Arthur moaned low in his throat, arms braced against the wall and rocking back into Eames already.

Eames pulled the shirt from Arthur's trousers, fingers hungry for skin. He unbuttoned it partway up, but by the time he was only halfway done, the peek of Arthur's chest and cut abs was too much. His hands roamed freely over the wiry, firm muscles of Arthur's torso, smooth and so different from his own chest. His palms rasped over Arthur's already taut nipples, the small buds drawing him because he knew exactly how sensitive they were and exactly what they did to Arthur. He drew his hands over them slowly, from the heel of his palm to the tip of his finger, Arthur getting wound tighter and tighter. When he finally pinched, the whine Arthur let slip out was the hottest thing Eames had ever heard. He rolled them between his thumb and his finger and Arthur rocked back against him. "Mmm, I want to hear it, Arthur. I want to know what this does to you." He nosed Arthur's neck. "Show me," he said and _twisted_.

Arthur's cry went straight to Eames's cock and god bloody _damn_ it, he was going to take this man apart. His hands fumbled at Arthur's flies as he rocked back against Eames, the rhythm just the way Eames liked it.

Arthur's trousers hit the floor, revealing a tiny pair of black boxer briefs that made Eames's brain go offline for a moment. The picture of Arthur's white, pinstriped button-down, dark red tie, and black underwear straining to contain an erection he knew so well short circuited every brain cell he had.

Eames worked his fingers under the waistband, thumbs tracing the light trail of hair south of his navel. He stroked the skin of his hips and upper thighs, teasing mercilessly. Arthur growled, trying to shift his hips to put Eames's hands where he so obviously wanted them, but Eames just grinned, nibbling kisses into Arthur's neck. He brought his hands closer, but instead of circling Arthur's needy cock, he dipped lower. He pressed his thumbs against the base and stroked Arthur's balls, long and slow, dipping back to his perineum. Arthur keened, leaning his head back on Eames's shoulder and letting go of the wall to reach for the back of Eames's head. Eames kissed his jaw, stroking Arthur's sac and blissfully ignoring the way his cock was smearing precome everywhere with each rocking thrust.

Eames's cock was practically whining at the extra layers between them, the pressure from Arthur's arse a delightful tease. He left one hand where it was and used the other to circle Arthur's cock, stroking so, so lightly, barely touching. Arthur swore, reaching behind him and grasping Eames's belt. With a dexterity that impressed Eames, Arthur undid his belt and zip, and Eames gave his hips a shake that sent his trousers to the floor. He released his hands in order to help Arthur free his aching erection trapped against his stomach, the waistband of his pants pushed just under his balls.

"I don't have any lube," Eames confessed, panting in his ear as he tugged Arthur's pants to his thighs. "Wasn't planning on playing this particular game."

"Fuck you," Arthur moaned, "just your hand, Eames, god, please…"

He could hear from Arthur's panting that he was just about done with the teasing. He knew exactly how far he could push his darling before those whispered fuck you's turned into actual fuck you's, and he was getting close. But, oh, how fun it was.

"Shh," Eames hushed, pushing Arthur's arms to brace himself on the wall in front of him again. "I've got you."

"Hurry," Arthur said, half pleading, half warning, and Eames was so fucking gone for this man. He worked up saliva in his mouth and used it to slick his own cock, angling it down as he slid it between Arthur's cheeks. He ghosted over Arthur's hole and listened to him whine.

"Lick," he commanded, bringing his palm to Arthur's mouth, and he throbbed at the way Arthur obeyed immediately, licking a fat stripe up Eames's hand. "Good boy, pet."

"Fuck you," Arthur whispered, dropping his head as Eames finally wrapped a hand around him, tugging firmly. God, Arthur was so worked up already. He changed tactics, stroking with two fingers and his thumb, short, fast strokes only halfway down, meant to keep him right on the edge but not give him the release he was looking for.

"Oh fuck," Arthur gusted, "Fuck you."

Eames's other hand held Arthur steady as he slid himself up and down Arthur's lovely arse. Christ. He couldn't even see details he knew were hidden under that shirt, the dimples at the top of his cheeks, the dip of his spine. He was so lovely.

Eames sped up, unable to help himself, drawing little _ah_ 's out of Arthur every time he brushed over the tight pucker of his hole, bending his knees to press against the slick heat of his perineum and skim the back of his furred sac. His hand wrapped fully around Arthur in pleasure.

"Oh, fuck, Eames," Arthur moaned, "fuck, fuck, _fuck_."

"Christ, Arthur," Eames gritted out. He sped up his strokes, rumbling filth in Arthur's ear, panting his pleasure against Arthur's neck.

Then Arthur was stiffening, jerking, spilling over Eames's fist with a cry that sounded something like his name and something like a sob. Eames slowed, ignoring his throbbing prick so he could milk Arthur's cock, squeezing every last drop. When Arthur finally slumped against him, he kissed his neck. "Good, pet?"

Arthur huffed out a half-laugh, thighs shaking. "Yeah, good," he panted. "So good."

Eames jerked Arthur's hips flush against his and caught Arthur's ear with his teeth. "Yeah? Show me," he growled, low and dangerous. Arthur shivered. Eames drew back, slicking himself with Arthur's cum, spreading it over the head and easing the way back in between Arthur's cheeks. He was so warm and soft, and Eames groaned as he slid forward, rising up on his toes to get the most thrust. He gripped Arthur's hips, hard, knowing there'd be marks there later and grinned at the thought of finding them and covering them with his fingers again. Then he pressed into the warmth of Arthur, speeding up as Arthur made those tiny kitten noises that drove him fucking crazy. Arthur braced his hands against the wall, pushing back as Eames's thrusts got more erratic, his balls tightening.

"Fuck, Arthur, I'm going to-"

And Arthur clenched his cheeks until Eames saw stars, coming and coming between Arthur's perfect arse and spattering his thighs. Eames groaned, shaky and spent, sinking inelegantly down to his knees so he wouldn't crush Arthur into the wall.

He sat there, loose and panting, and watched as Arthur drew his pants and trousers back up before he turned and sank down to the floor also, back braced against the wall. They stared at each other for a few moments while they caught their breath. Arthur's hair was dishevelled, his shirt unbuttoned and untucked, but otherwise he looked as graceful as always. Eames sat there, still breathing hard, covered in both their jizz with his dick still hanging out of his pants.

Arthur smirked at him. "Good game," he teased.

He breathed out a laugh and gestured to himself. "I think you won," Eames said.

Arthur gave a half shrug, then leant forward and dropped a kiss to the tip of Eames's penis in consolation. It gave a valiant twitch at the contact.

"Best two out of three?" Eames asked.


End file.
